


Case File of Entity A-SH 1; or, Hashirama's Sad Adventure In Science Hell

by Victopteryx



Category: Naruto
Genre: Entity Au, M/M, Mild torture, Non-consensual Medical Procedures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:01:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26046172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Victopteryx/pseuds/Victopteryx
Summary: Madara is a scientist at the Military Research Institute. Hashirama's an "Object" under study. Tobirama's missing, Izuna's a military special op, and everything is terrible.A series of drabbles.
Relationships: Senju Hashirama/Uchiha Madara
Comments: 7
Kudos: 77





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off of fungisailor's entity au! Please go check it out: https://fungisailor.tumblr.com/post/626991135891587072/yeah-so-entity-hashirama-au-part-1-the-whole
> 
> Just a quick warning, as well: This is just a collection of drabbles related to this prompt! I don't have a story plotted out, and this will probably be updated very periodically.

The rigid plastic of the keycard dug into Madara’s palm as he clenched his fist. Almost. He was almost free.

The line in front of him slowly shuffled forward.

Overhead, a clock read _17:14_ in bright red neon.

 _Beep_ , said the keycard scanner. _Beep_. The line shuffled forwards.

It was stupid, but sometimes Madara was worried they wouldn’t let him clock out at the end of the shift. Sometimes the irrational fear gripped him that he would get to the front of the line, and swipe his badge, and nothing would happen. That he’d stand there in front of those armored glass doors leading to the main elevator and nothing would happen.

 _Beep_. The man in front of him tucked his lanyard back into his jacket and made his way towards the door – and then it was Madara’s turn. He stepped forward, lab coat brushing his legs, held up his keycard –

 _Beep_ , said the scanner.

The bulletproof glass doors smoothly slid open.

Madara swallowed his completely irrational relief and walked through them, stuffing his keycard back into his back pocket.

It was ridiculous, of course. The only reason the doors _wouldn’t_ open is if his keycard randomly started malfunctioning or if he’d been micro-chipped by Containment and Tracking. He wasn’t an Object, so C&T had no reason to micro-chip him, and his keycard was fine. Everything was fine. Madara was fine.

The elevator doors slid shut behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

Hashirama’s jaw clenched. The muscles deep in his back tensed painfully; he dug his fingernails into his hands so hard they almost broke the skin. It would be over soon. He kept repeating that in his mind. It would be over soon. They only needed a few cells. It would be –

“Are we done here?” asked one of the soldiers.

“Not quite,” the scientist said through her blue paper face mask. “We need cultures from several different areas on it, so it’ll be a while.” The scalpel in her hands dispassionately sliced into Hashirama’s skin again.

Hashirama sucked in a sharp breath through his nostrils. “Are you _sure_ there’s no anesthetic?” he asked, voice hovering somewhere between his attempt at jovial and panicked. “I would _really_ appreciate it if –”

One of the soldiers levelled their guns at his head. “Stop talking.”

Hashirama rested his head back against the surgical table and took in another shuddering breath.

The scientist pulled the chunk of skin and flesh free with a pair of forceps and calmly deposited it on the awaiting petri dish. “Turn him over, please.”

“What are you –” Hashirama started to say, but a sharp movement from the soldier made him shut his mouth with a click.

Cold, gloved hands undid the straps holding him in place. There was a steady movement around the perimeter of the room – a dozen rifles steadied on him as the attendants maneuvered Hashirama onto his stomach.

Hashirama’s head was resting in a cut-out. He was trying very hard not to shake. The bright fluorescent lights cast sharp shadows on the linoleum floor below.

“A fresh scalpel, please.”


	3. Chapter 3

The MRI compound was a sprawling mass of buildings in the middle of a cold desert – outside the barbed wire fences and guard towers was nothing but scrub and rocky hills as far as the eye could see. The compound itself was like small city – the main administrative building sat like an ugly mesa, its gray windowless façade almost camouflaged against the dreary landscape. There was an airport, with several helicopters ready and waiting; the barracks, where the soldiers stationed at the compound lived; a small shopping center, with a few, gray restaurants; and the residential sector, where permanent staff and visiting specialists slept.

As Madara walked briskly through the compound, folder of his most recently assigned Objects under his arm, he pulled out his phone. Izuna had left him a message.

_Izuna – 17:10_

_hey nii-san I have pizza Im at ur place_

_movie night movie night movie night_

Madara smiled.

The military didn’t allow his younger brother very much free time, but he always spent what little he had with Madara. The two had all but grown up on the compound. Their father, Tajima, was the head of the Research and Innovation Department, and it had been all but a given that they would take jobs at the Institute as well.

The residential sector was a dense cluster of apartment buildings. Madara unlocked the steel front door and slipped inside, squinting in the sudden change in light. Beige wallpaper, crescent-shaped light sconces, tacky plastic stair rails – the hallways looked like something out of a cheap hotel. Or an old hospital. The entire place smelled faintly of bleach and chemicals.

The second floor was the same as the first, as was the third. Madara walked down four doors on the third floor, fishing his keys out of his lab coat as he did so. The door opened before he could even reach for the handle. There was a flash of black and brown as Izuna seized him in a hug.

“I thought they’d never let you leave!” Izuna said, pulling Madara through the door. “I’ve been waiting for the past _hour_ , nii-san, the pizza’s cold!”

“I have a microwave,” Madara said. He was smiling again. His little brother – not so little, these days, given that he’d been in the military for almost three years at this point – released him and ran back into the kitchen.

“I got you banana peppers on yours,” Izuna called out as Madara came into the living room of his apartment.

The apartment was small – barely even 800 square feet of short, coarse carpet and egg-shell white paint. Madara didn’t mind, though. He didn’t have to share it with anyone, and he barely had any possessions to call his own, regardless. Madara tossed the folder on the old coffee table and shucked off his lab coat, falling onto the couch with gusty sigh.

Izuna came back into the living room, chewing on a slice of pizza. It was completely covered with olives. Just olives.

“What, you’re not even going to bring me a piece?” Madara grumbled, pulling himself off of the couch.

“Don’t be lazy, nii-san,” Izuna said, bending over to look at the folder.

Madara shoved him lightly as he walked past.

“Oh, are you being assigned to a new Object?” Izuna asked through a mouthful of olives.

“Yeah,” Madara called back. He opened one of the cardboard boxes sitting on the linoleum countertop. Banana peppers, excellent.

“Oh, this one’s…” Izuna trailed off. Madara could hear papers shuffling in the other room. “This one’s the one I helped bring in.”

“Is it?” Madara said, going still. The slice of pizza sagged in his hand. He waited for Izuna to continue, but when the silence just stretched on, he said, “I’ve observed it before. They’re just reassigning me to its case.”

“Why’s that?” Izuna asked from the doorway. There was a narrow tension in his shoulders as he leaned against the plaster.

Madara let the piece of pizza fall onto a paper plate and set it on the greasy glass tray inside the microwave. As he punched in numbers, he said, “Not sure. They said something about it being ‘uncooperative’ with the other researchers. I guess they thought they’ll get more out of it if I’m the one asking it questions.”

“Nii-san…” Izuna said, looking down. He uncrossed his arms and pushed off of the door frame, coming over to grab another slice of olives-with-pizza. “Please be careful. It’s –”

“It only attacked the one time, Izuna,” Madara said shortly. He didn’t like thinking about it – who would? – but at the end of the day no one had been seriously injured. No one important, anyway. “It’s been non-aggressive since the incident. It’ll be fine.” The microwave dinged. “I’ll be fine.”

Izuna chewed on his cold pizza, eyeing him suspiciously.

Madara held the hot paper plate gingerly between his hands as he walked back to the living room. “Are we watching this movie or not, brat? Come on.”

The folder sat open on the coffee table. The paper on top of the stack read _Object: SH 1._ There were other classifiers, and a dense block of text under that – but next to the classification was a picture. Object A-SH 1 looked like a man. A tall, handsome man with broad shoulders and long, chestnut brown hair. Dark green markings spread around his eyes and over the upper part of his face.

Madara flipped the folder shut. “Izuna, are you coming or not?”


	4. Chapter 4

The stark white walls of his containment unit were almost a relief, and wow, wasn’t that a little fucked up? Hashirama let himself be frog-marched to the cramped airlock on the right side of the room by four iron-faced soldiers. There was a gun trained on him at all times.

The first scientist walked past them to a panel on the side of the room and nodded to the other. Together, they swiped their badges over the small, concealed screens.

The light above the airlock turned green and the door opened with a _hiss_ and a rush of cold air. The soldiers holding Hashirama’s arms shoved him towards it. He stumbled a little – the samples the scientists had taken from his foot still hadn’t healed entirely – and in an instant there were two more guns pointing at him.

“I’m going,” Hashirama said, ducking his head and raising his hand in apology. He stepped into the airlock. He had the same brief moment of panic – because he was sure that, if they wanted to, they could just leave him in this tiny, airless box – and then the scientists swiped their cards again, typing in a code on their respective screens.

The door to Hashirama’s cell opened with another rush of air, and he was free. Free to roam all the 40 square feet of space he was allowed.

Behind the double-reinforced Plexiglass wall, the soldiers relaxed their stances and lowered their guns. Without a word, or even a backwards glance, the scientists walked towards the door on the other side of the room and left, followed by the soldiers.

Then Hashirama was alone. Just him, his bed, a toilet, and a sink.

The red neon clock on the far wall read _18:43._


	5. Chapter 5

Hashirama took a deep breath, and unclenched his toes. The wound was healing quickly – all of his wounds healed quickly, these days – but it still hurt like hell. Did she really need to take it out of his _heel_?

The soft _hiss_ of the pneumatic door sliding open roused him. Hashirama sat upright in the bed, adrenaline pumping through his system. Did they need more samples already? So _soon_?

The person who walked through the door wasn’t the same scientist as last time. Hashirama saw long, dark hair; a pale face, with heavy purple bags under the eyes; a hard cant to his stiff shoulders –

Hashirama recognized this scientist. “Hello, Dr. Uchiha,” he said softly.

The scientist stopped dead, hands tightening around the clipboard. He didn’t say anything in response. His sharp black eyes swept over Hashirama, briefly, taking in the standard-issue sweatpants and plain black t-shirt, before glancing briefly at the rest of his cell. There wasn’t much to look at.

Hashirama watched the scientist walk over to the computer embedded in the right-hand wall and swipe his keycard.

“It says you’re due for a physical,” the scientist said shortly, scrolling down the screen. “Dr. Yamanaka’s out of office today, so that’ll have to be rescheduled…”

Hashirama slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed and shakingly limped towards the plexiglass barrier. “Dr. Uchiha,” he said gently, raising a hand to rest on the glass. “I’d like to apologize.”

The scientist froze. His shoulders, incredibly, somehow tensed even further.

“I don’t… know how it happened,” Hashirama continued, softly. The tiny intercom speaker embedded in the plexiglass was a stark black against the white room. “But I am really sorry you got hurt. I’m glad you look better.”

Dr. Uchiha let out a shaky breath and clicked his tongue. “Thank you for your concern,” he said, turning towards Hashirama. His face was a brittle mask. “Please step away from the glass.”

Hashirama took two hobbling steps backwards.

Dr. Uchiha’s eyes zeroed in on his foot. “What’s wrong?” he asked sharply.

Hashirama cocked his head. “They took samples today,” he said simply.

“Are they not healed yet?”

Hashirama lifted his foot to show the other man his heel. A sharp crease formed between Dr. Uchiha’s eyebrows.

“Fucking Anko,” he muttered, pulling a pen out of his pocket and scribbling something on the clipboard. “We already… didn’t…”

Hashirama lowered his foot back to the ground, wincing.

The scientist clicked the pen and slipped it back into his pocket, clipboard coming to rest at his side. “Like I was saying,” he continued, eyes not meeting Hashirama’s. “Your physical is going to be rescheduled. I’m here to conduct a few tests on –”

Hashirama tensed involuntarily, nervous energy flooding his system.

The scientist paused, eyes flicking over to him. “–on your cognitive reasoning capacities,” he finished quietly. “They’re verbal tests. You’ll stay in there the whole time.”

A little of the tension bled out of Hashirama’s shoulders. “Do you…” he started to say. He licked his lips nervously. “Do you mind if I sit?”

The scientist shook his head. “I don’t care.”

Hashirama staggered back towards the bed and sat, hands fisted on his knees.

Dr. Uchiha flipped a page over on his clipboard. “Let’s begin.”


End file.
